


You better be Santa

by PaintTheWorldDifferent



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Christmas-y, Daddy!Gallavich, Fluff, I think that's it? - Freeform, M/M, OMC is their baby Isaiah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:49:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintTheWorldDifferent/pseuds/PaintTheWorldDifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Its Christmas eve and Mickey and his baby are home alone. Mickey hears a noise and goes to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You better be Santa

**Author's Note:**

> I know its july but I wanted to write a Christmas fic so suck my dick kay also since this is just a one shot I didn't add the specifics of how Isaiah came to be.

T'was the night before Christmas, and all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

And no, not mouse as in Mickey Milkovich, because if anyone compares him to fucking Mickey Mouse again he'll rip their fucking tongue out, got it?

Mickey had been sleeping next to his son Isaiah for about an hour and a half, Isaiah being unusually fussy tonight and Mickey having to spend Christmas without his husband. Again.

He knew what he was signing up for when he encouraged Ian to sign up for another term in the army. He just didn't think it would hurt so fucking much to not be on the same continent as the carrot top, with his freckles and pale skin. Fucking alien lookin'. But damn if Ian didn't turn him into some faggot. Well, more so than he already was, having been taking it up the ass from Ian since he was nineteen.

Mickey's eyes shot open at the sound of the crash. He tucked the blanket tighter around the baby before leaning over the side of the bed and grabbing the bat that lay just underneath it. He lazily stood and stretched, feigning nonchalance. He knew he could take on whoever was dumb enough to try and break into a Milkovich's house. But every nerve was on high alert anyway, wary of the three month old baby laying on their large king bed, big enough for all three of them to fit, as well as room to roll around in when Ian was home and Mandy took the baby.

Mickey slowly walked down the hallway, bat hanging limply by his side even though his knuckles were white with the force he was squeezing the bat with.

When he reached the living room, he saw a dark shape bent over, hand under the tree filled with presents, a large duffle bag next to him.

He yawned loudly to announce his presence and swung the bat over his shoulder. "Listen, buddy. I hope to _God_  you're Santa. For your sake, not mine. Because you just stumbled into the worst possible house to rob tonight."

The shape froze, before slowly rising and reaching out to his bag.

"Nah," Mickey said, and despite his casual tone he swung the bat forcefully, hitting the intruder in the leg. The intruder fell, letting out a small gasp.

Mickey froze. He'd know that breathy exhale anywhere. He'd heard it repeatedly for years, under him and behind him and when he surprised his lover by taking his whole cock down his throat. He'd heard it when Mickey first admitted he loved him, he heard it when Mickey first slammed Ian's back against the wall of their new house, the first step of many in christening every surface. He'd heard it when Mickey proposed. He'd heard it when Ian held their baby for the first time.

"Ian?" Mickey whispered, not really believing.

"Yeah, Mick," Ian said with a strangled tone.

Mickey got on his knees next to his husband and rolled him over. "Ian?" he said, louder.

"Yes, Mick!" Ian said, toothy grin starting to show through the pain.

"You fucking asshole!" Mickey shouted, then punched Ian in the mouth, breaking the skin.

"Ow, Mickey! Damn it, why do you--" Ian was cut off by chapped lips pressing against his.

Mickey pressed his lips against Ian's, making sure he was real. And Ian's blood was smeared all over his mouth but he didn't care because it meant Ian was _real_ , Ian was here with Mickey and he wasn't laying in some enemy camp being beaten to death while Mickey was back home and couldn't protect him.

"Ow-- Mick, Mickey baby, ow-- busted lip, here!" Ian said, pulling away slightly, rubbing his thumb over Mickey's lips to wipe the blood off. "So, I take it you missed me?" Ian said, cocky smirk in place.

"Fuck off," Mickey said, closing his eyes and breathing in Ian's scent of desert, sweat, and airplane. "You know, I almost killed you."

"I wouldn't have you any other way," Ian grinned, pressing another kiss to Mickey's lips before standing. "Ow, shit, Mick. You got me good," Ian said, clutching his leg.

"I got shot for you. Twice. I don't wanna hear it," Mickey snapped without venom, wrapping his arm around Ian's waist under the pretense of helping him walk, but really just wanting to hold him.

"Let's go to bed," Ian said with a smirk.

"That's fucking disgusting, our baby is sleeping there," Mickey scolded.

"Good. Because with a broken leg I'm not sure I can deliver your Christmas present just yet," Ian murmured with a wink.

"Its not fucking broken, you fucking pussy," Mickey scoffed fondly. "You been in the army all these years and you still can't take a hit? Them towel-heads been slacking."

"Whatever. You just wait, I'll kick your ass," Ian said, puffing his chest out.

"You're on," Mickey said, twisting Ian's nipple before rubbing his thumb over it soothingly. When Ian moaned, Mickey shushed him. "It took forever to get Isaiah to sleep. You better not fucking wake him up."

Ian hummed softly as they entered the bedroom. He let go of Mickey, though Mickey stayed close by in case Ian was right about his leg being hurt. Ian slid out of his army uniform, and limped back to Mickey in only his boxers and undershirt.

Mickey climbed into his side of the bed, gently lifting Isaiah and scooting him out of the way so Ian wouldn't lay on him. Ian climbed in on the other side, scooting close to where Mickey had the baby cradled to his chest.

Ian wrapped his arms around his small family and pressed his lips to Mickey's. "Merry Christmas, Mickey Milkovich," He whispered.

"Merry Christmas, you fucking ball of cheese Ian Milkovich," Mickey breathed back, a smile on his face.

"And merry Christmas to you, too, Isaiah Milkovich," Ian whispered, kissing the baby's small forehead. Isaiah yawned, smacking his lips before stilling again.

Ian smiled down at his little family, everything he had made his home, and knew that it was truly a merry Christmas.

Mickey pressed his forehead to Ian's and the two of them eventually fell asleep, all three of their breath mingling on the early Christmas morning.


End file.
